Friday Barnes 3

by R. A. Spratt

  ‘But why?’ asked Pauline. ‘You’re still the second-best student at mathematics. Isn’t that good enough?’

  ‘My father was so proud when I topped maths last year,’ explained Michael. ‘He boasted about it to his friends.’

  ‘He must have very boring friends,’ said Friday.

  ‘He does, he’s an accountant,’ said Michael. ‘Anyway, he promised to give me a thousand dollars if I did it again.’

  ‘Wow!’ said Pauline. ‘My parents are super ambitious, but they would never do that.’

  ‘I don’t have to beat you,’ said Michael. ‘I’d just have to come equal top. I was getting most of the answers right by myself, but there was always one or two that I struggled with. A thousand dollars is a lot of money. I couldn’t resist the temptation to cheat.’

  ‘Shame on you,’ said Friday. ‘What would Pythagoras say?’

  ‘Are you going to tell the Headmaster?’ asked Michael.

  ‘That’s up to Pauline,’ said Friday. ‘She’s the client.’

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ said Pauline. ‘If you get the same mark as me in maths and we are equal top, you get a thousand dollars.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Michael.

  ‘Then let’s split the money,’ said Pauline. ‘If you promise to share the thousand dollars, I’ll go over your homework with you every night and show you how to fix up any errors.’

  ‘Deal!’ exclaimed Michael, putting out his hand. Pauline shook it.

  ‘I love it when a story ends happily with a mutually beneficial morally bankrupt collaboration,’ said Melanie.

  Chapter 21

  The Framing of Dr Barnes

  Friday was sitting quietly in history class, secretly reading a book on criminal profiling under the desk. She was trying to work out whether Princess Ingrid was a sociopath or simply had narcissistic personality disorder, when Ian burst through the door. ‘Friday, you’d better come quickly!’ he said.

  ‘Wainscott! How dare you interrupt my class,’ said Mr Conti. ‘You’d better have a good reason.’

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ said Ian. ‘It’s just that Friday’s father is being arrested, and I thought she’d want to know.’

  ‘Okay, that is a good reason,’ conceded Mr Conti. ‘You may go, Friday, and you too, Melanie – I know there’s no way you’ll stay awake if your friend isn’t here.’

  Friday and Melanie hurried after Ian, who led them across the school at a jog.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I was walking past Dr Barnes’ physics classroom,’ said Ian, ‘when I heard a commotion. I looked in and saw two policemen dragging your father out into the corridor.’

  ‘Why did they take him away?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Ian. ‘Look, there’s the squad car out the front of the administration building!’

  Friday started running faster now. She could see her father and hear him.

  ‘This is an outrage!’ yelled Dr Barnes. ‘It’s the persecution of Galileo all over again.’

  ‘We haven’t persecuted anyone called Galileo,’ said Sergeant Crowley. He ran the local police station and as such had dealt with many strange happenings at the school, which usually involved Friday.

  ‘Dr Barnes is referring to a sixteenth-century scientist,’ explained Ian. ‘Galileo was tormented by the Inquisition and sentenced to house arrest for a decade, for making scientific discoveries that challenged church doctrine.’

  ‘He’s got tickets on himself then, hasn’t he?’ said Sergeant Crowley. He turned to Dr Barnes. ‘Sir, we’re not persecuting you for your scientific discoveries. I doubt we could understand even if you explained them to us. We’re persecuting you because you’ve been found to have a large amount of stolen property hidden in your car. You’re going to jail for petty theft, not for challenging anyone’s fundamental belief system.’

  ‘He should get an extra six months for giving me an ulcer,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘Headmaster, I’m surprised at you,’ said Friday, as she came to a panting halt. ‘It has been scientifically proven that stomach ulcers are caused by bacteria not stress, and besides, if my father has contributed to your stress you’ve only got yourself to blame for hiring him.’

  ‘You told me to hire him!’ protested the Headmaster.

  ‘I’m twelve years old, what are you doing taking advice from me?’ asked Friday. ‘And what’s this tosh about my father stealing things?!’

  ‘He’s The Pimpernel!’ said the Vice Principal, a gleam of bloodlust in his eyes. He enjoyed getting people fired. ‘His car is crammed full of stolen property. He hid the car under a willow tree so the branches would hide his stash, but I saw what he was up to and called the police right away.’

  ‘And you let him do this?’ Friday demanded of the Headmaster. ‘You didn’t have to involve the police.’

  ‘My watch was one of the stolen items in the car,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘But you can’t believe that Dad took it all!’ said Friday. ‘Sergeant Crowley, please, you must see that my father is far too silly to be such a competent thief.’

  ‘I’m not going to conduct an interview with you standing on the driveway of a school,’ said Sergeant Crowley. ‘If you’d like to make yourself available for a formal interview, then you may come down to the station.’

  ‘But I’m twelve, I can’t drive!’ argued Friday.

  ‘That’s not my problem,’ said Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘Friday, stay away,’ urged Dr Barnes. ‘The local police are in league with the Nobel Prize Committee. It’s a perfect storm of vengeful forces. I think your mother put them up to this.’

  Sergeant Crowley shut the car door on Dr Barnes before he could make any more wild allegations.

  ‘I suggest you contact a lawyer,’ Sergeant Crowley said to Friday. ‘That’s the type of help he needs now.’

  Sergeant Crowley got in the squad car and drove off. Dr Barnes turned and yelled something wildly to Friday, but she couldn’t hear what he had said through the glass.

  ‘Do you think your father has gone senile?’ asked Ian.

  ‘It’s definitely a possibility,’ said Friday.

  ‘I realise I haven’t got the firmest grasp on reality,’ said Melanie, ‘but that stuff about the local police being in league with the Nobel Prize Committee seemed pretty nutty to me.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Friday. ‘The Nobel Prize Committee is comprised of some of the finest minds in Europe, so I doubt they’d be seeking out Sergeant Crowley for help.’

  ‘Poor Sergeant Crowley. He so dislikes being forced to do work,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Who do we know who’s a lawyer?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Half the student body have parents who are lawyers,’ said Melanie. ‘But I think most of them specialise in the type of law to do with not paying tax, not the type of law for getting esteemed scientists off theft charges.’

  ‘And we don’t have any money,’ said Friday. ‘So we need a lawyer who owes us a favour.’

  ‘I know someone,’ said Ian.

  ‘You do?’ said Friday.

  ‘My mum,’ said Ian.

  Chapter 22

  Springing Dr Barnes

  Melanie rang her father’s chauffeur and got him to give them a lift. Friday and Melanie went straight to the police station. Ian arranged for his mother to meet them there, but Ian couldn’t go along himself because he had to play in the polo tournament that afternoon.

  It took Mrs Wainscott an hour and a half to arrive at the police station, and when she did, Uncle Bernie was with her.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I offered to drive Helena,’ said Uncle Bernie.

  ‘Who?’ asked Friday, although if her brain was working with its usual efficiency she should have been able to work this out.

  ‘Mrs Wainscott,’ said Uncle Bernie.

  ‘Why were you with Mrs Wainscott?’ asked Friday.

  Uncle Ber
nie blushed. Blushing is an awkward tell at the best of times. But it is particularly awkward when you are a large, scruffy insurance investigator.

  ‘We were at pottery class when I got your call,’ said Mrs Wainscott.

  ‘Pottery class?’ said Friday. ‘Is that code for something else?’

  ‘No, we really do take a pottery class together,’ said Uncle Bernie.

  ‘Bernard suggested it to me,’ said Mrs Wainscott. ‘I’m always looking for more ways to be self-sufficient. Now I can make my own crockery.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Friday. ‘It certainly sounds like a crock to me.’

  Uncle Bernie blushed again.

  ‘I suppose I’d better meet my client,’ said Mrs Wainscott with a giggle. ‘It’s been years since I last did this. This is going to be fun.’

  Friday rubbed her eyes. ‘My father is going to jail, I just know it. And the worst part is, I’m going to have to explain all this to my mother.’

  ‘You!’ snapped Mrs Wainscott, at a constable behind the desk. ‘I’m Dr Barnes’s legal representative. Show me to him immediately. You better not have been asking him questions before I got here or I’ll file a complaint against you for harassment.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Melanie. ‘Impressive. She must have been a really good acrobat.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ asked Friday.

  ‘If she gave up the law to become an acrobat,’ said Melanie, ‘she must be even better at twisting herself into a human pretzel than she is at haranguing police officers.’

  It was a nervous wait for Friday outside the interview room. She was used to being in the thick of it, not waiting helplessly to find out what was going on.

  ‘What’s happening?’ asked Friday as Mrs Wainscott emerged from the interview room where she had been talking with Sergeant Crowley and Dr Barnes.

  ‘Your father is acting very strangely,’ said Mrs Wainscott. ‘He keeps muttering about how rival M-theorists are trying to destroy him. Is that some sort of Star Trek reference?’

  ‘No, there really are rival M-theorists who would like to destroy him,’ said Friday. ‘But you have to understand that in the world of theoretical physics, “destroying” someone means writing a really well-researched paper disproving their thesis.’

  ‘So you’re sure he’s not seriously mentally ill?’ asked Mrs Wainscott.

  ‘No, all academics act like that,’ said Friday. ‘Muttering, irrational thoughts and obsessive behaviour are all socially acceptable in their work environment.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ said Mrs Wainscott. ‘If he was bonkers, it would be easier to get him off. If he is sane, he’s probably going to get in a lot of trouble. The police found $180,000 worth of stolen goods in his car.’

  ‘What?’ exclaimed Friday.

  ‘Apparently it was jam-packed to the roof with stolen computers, jewellery, kitchen appliances, federal bond certificates –’

  ‘Why would anyone have federal bond certificates lying around at school?’ asked Friday.

  ‘In case there is a currency crash and they have to flee the country with easily exchangeable assets,’ explained Melanie.

  ‘You’re kidding,’ said Friday.

  ‘It happens more than you might expect with the student body at Highcrest,’ said Melanie. ‘Last year, the tax department discovered that Hazel Edward’s parents hadn’t filed a tax return for fifteen years. They landed their helicopter on the rugby field, grabbed Hazel and flew off to Jersey to live as tax exiles.’

  ‘But my father can’t have stolen all those things,’ said Friday.

  ‘Why? Because he’s an essentially honest person?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘No, because it would involve carrying heavy objects and packing them into the car,’ said Friday. ‘It would be beyond him. He’s used to making PhD students do that type of thing for him. PhD students are the academic world’s version of indentured slaves. The only reason they get away with it is because the students all have Stockholm Syndrome, plus they’re under the misapprehension that a PhD is actually worth something.’

  ‘The stolen property was in his car,’ said Mrs Wainscott. ‘He’s paranoid and delusional. That isn’t going to look good in court.’

  ‘Were his fingerprints on the stolen property?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Mrs Wainscott. ‘There are so many items, forensics haven’t analysed them all. But it wouldn’t matter. If there were no fingerprints, the police would just argue that he used gloves.’

  ‘As if my father would ever do anything that sensible,’ said Friday.

  At that moment Sergeant Crowley emerged from the interview room carrying a plastic tray.

  ‘Are those my father’s personal effects?’ asked Friday.

  ‘What if they are?’ asked Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘I’d like to see them and the stolen property,’ said Friday.

  ‘Why on earth would I agree to that?’ said Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘Sergeant, there’s no use pretending I’m an ordinary twelve-year-old,’ said Friday. ‘I’ve already solved several significant cases for your department. You could obstruct my investigation, but if this is all a misunderstanding the sooner I reveal what’s really going on the less embarrassing it will be for you.’

  ‘My inspector would never go for that,’ said Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘You’ll be getting a lot of close attention from your inspector when it’s on the six o’clock news that you arrested a Nobel laureate’s husband for theft,’ said Friday. ‘That would be fine if your accusations were entirely correct, but if your case is going to collapse surely it’s better if that happens now, before the international news crews set up their cameras in the car park.’

  Sergeant Crowley sighed. He didn’t want to agree because, being a police sergeant, he was trained not to be agreeable. But he liked being in charge of a small-town police station, precisely because it was quiet and there wasn’t much for him to do. If Friday did solve the case and make the whole thing disappear, he would be secretly relieved.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘But you’ll owe me a favour.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Friday. ‘You can call on me any time your own investigative team lets you down.’

  ‘Harrumph,’ said Sergeant Crowley. ‘If I did that, you’d need to have your own office; you’d be here full-time. Come on, I’ll show you the evidence room.’

  Sergeant Crowley led Friday, Melanie, Uncle Bernie and Mrs Wainscott to a room at the back of the police station. He opened the door and ushered them inside.

  There were steel shelves laden with labelled evidence bags. In the middle of the room was a large table where two junior officers were putting items into more evidence bags.

  ‘Everything on the table was found in your father’s car,’ said Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘Wow, that’s a lot of stuff,’ said Melanie. ‘I can’t believe he fit that all in.’

  ‘It was very meticulously packed,’ said Sergeant Crowley. ‘There wasn’t a spare inch of space, other than the driver’s seat.’

  Friday took out her magnifying glass and approached the table.

  ‘You can look, but no touching,’ said Sergeant Crowley. ‘I can’t have you contaminating the evidence.’

  ‘Understood,’ said Friday as she leaned in to peer at the first bag.

  It took her forty minutes to fully inspect every object. The process involved a certain amount of crouching down and crawling on the floor as she struggled to inspect each piece from every angle without touching it.

  ‘Your father certainly has eclectic taste in stolen property,’ observed Melanie. ‘The laptop, jewellery and bond certificates I can understand, but what would he want with a set of carbon-fibre golf clubs? If he’s anything like you, he would never be able to hit the ball.’

  ‘They’re all things he could easily fence for cash,’ said Sergeant Crowley. ‘Pawnshops will always take golf clubs and computers.’

  ‘Where are my father’s personal artefa
cts?’ asked Friday. ‘The things you took off him when he arrived?’

  ‘In here.’ The sergeant placed the small plastic tray on the table in front of Friday.

  ‘Hmm … interesting.’ Friday carefully inspected each item. There was a pair of frayed shoelaces. A wallet. A five-dollar note and sixty cents in loose change. A notebook covered in scribbled equations and a blunt pencil.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Friday, ‘how did you get into the car to take everything out?’

  ‘It was locked,’ said Sergeant Crowley. ‘But Constable Benson used to work with auto-theft. He can break into any car in less than ten seconds.’

  ‘How?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘That’s privileged information,’ said Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘He smashed the driver’s window,’ said Friday. ‘I know because there are tiny fragments of auto glass in with several of the stolen items.’

  ‘Yes, well, apparently that’s how all the big city police departments do it these days,’ said Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘You really should read some of the industry periodicals you have stored out in your waiting room,’ said Friday. ‘One of these days someone other than me is going to notice your total lack of knowledge of any investigative technique developed in the twenty years since you left the police academy.’

  ‘Hey,’ said Sergeant Crowley, ‘I’m doing you a favour letting you see this! There’s no reason for you to give me cheek.’

  ‘Except for the fact that you wrongly arrested my father,’ said Friday.

  ‘Here we go,’ said Sergeant Crowley, rolling his eyes. ‘I know he’s your dad, but I won’t stand for any of your malarkey and tricks just so you can get him off.’

  ‘I don’t need malarkey or tricks,’ said Friday. ‘The evidence speaks for itself.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘There is no way my father could have packed all this property into one Ford Cortina,’ said Friday. ‘He hasn’t got the patience, spatial awareness or hand-eye coordination for such a complicated task.’